Dance of Death
by Iron-Doughnut
Summary: The North is changing. To the east, a young king rises and old grievances are to be settled through the flow of a crimson river. The west grows wary as armies rise and blades, no mater how old, are unsheathed, ready to drink the blood of they're foes. The stage is set, and the Dancers stand ready, the Dance of death is about to begin. And stuck mid stage: Arendelle.
1. Prologue

**Chapter 1**

A light layer of fog obscured the frozen pasture. Seas of dark green grass spread in all directions, and looming mountains pierced the Northern skyline, painted white by the winter skies. The early morning sunlight barley peering through the towering peaks. All was still, the pasture was the image of peace, not a blade of grass disturbed by creature nor breeze. This was not to last.

First came the constant thump-thump of a thousand feet, marching as one, crushing the brittle grass unfortunate enough to lay in their path, accompanied by the rhythmic clatter of rattling armour. Soldiers emerged from the obscured horizon, the mist giving way to a sizable host of 4830 men, jogging fully fitted in armour. They had been split into 30 groups of 161 men, each man's voice joint in a song of encouragement.

The men donned suits of chain mail, topped with leather jerkins, their hands either covered with thin leather gloves or left naked, vulnerable to the elements, each of the men are equipped with thick, fur-lined winter boots. Upon the jerkins was the visage of a silver goblet, incrusted with jewels upon a background of white.

Above the waving mass of spears and halberds protruded a flock of banners, bobbing up and down as their couriers struggled to keep pace with their brethren. The banners each carried the same image as the jerkins, proudly displaying the cup upon a sea of soft yellow and white, making the host's identity known to any who might glance upon it.

From a hill nearby, three riders observed the training army, much more lavishly dressed than the men bellow, they're powerful forms covered in thick winter coats, hiding their armour beneath. All but the man on the right. He was a broad man, muscled and imposing, yet not as tall as his companions. A Large broadsword was strapped to his back, its polished steel blade shining in the young light. He's short cropped brown hair made way for his large forehead, Ice blue eyes and a prominent jawline covered in a dark layer of stubble. His jerkin displayed the same silver cup as the banners splayed before him.

Left to him stood a tall man, his luscious golden hair combed back, reaching to the crook of his neck, contrasting with his chocolate brown eyes. His face framed with a neatly trimmed beard. His bastard sword hung loyally at his side, its hilt done in the form of the silver cup, similarly studded in precious stones. A Large crown is worn upon his head, a structure of pure silver, delicately carved images lined the old relic, scratch marks and a dulling shine betrays the crown's true age. Ambition shone subtly in his eyes, overshadowed by the immense pride radiating through the orbs.

To the left of him rode a shadowy figure, his likeness hidden under a thick coat and old, decaying hood. Unlike his comrades, this man was unarmed to the untrained eye. Merely his sharp chin and bony hands protrudes from under his old cloak, their completion not to different from the milky glow of the moonlight.

"You're Majesty" began the man on the right, pausing to glance at the blond man. "Our troops have multiplied threefold since your coronation, every man we could find, there is not another man fit for duty in the kingdom."

"Excellent, tell the men we depart in a fortnight."

"As you command you're Majesty"

**Anna **

Anna was bored. She had desperately tried to hide it, but she had been betrayed by a treacherous wave of drowsiness. The heated ramblings of commoners with land disputes and the boisterous demands of nobles with their heads so far up they're ass they could taste last night supper, has long since ceased to amuse her.

She has little to do in her sister's court, her presence being a mere formality, whilst Elsa does all the work, and she had long since given up on counting the amount of ruffles in the rug or rafters in the roof. With such dull company, it was a miracle that she had merely adopted a very unladylike slouch, rather than being splayed face first on the floor. Before long her eyes had drooped and she had taken to resting her head on her fist, a small trial of drool slowly making its way down her cheek.

She let out a sudden distressed snort as she was unexpectedly ripped from her fitful slumber by castle doors being thrown open in a haste. The courtroom silenced, even the Ice Queen's eyes had widened in surprise, a small crack in her mask of constant stoicism. a Soldier had burst into the room, his red sleeves and dark blue-green gloves identifying him as a man of Arendelle, bearing the sleeveless vest of plate mail, signature to Arendelle's lower ranking soldiers. The man's wild and dirty her splayed in al directions, betraying the fact that he had not had the time to groom in a while.

"You're Majesty! You're Majesty! I bring urgent news." The man hollered as he sprinted the length of the hall, shoving patrons and citizens out of the way before kneeling heavily before Elsa. Anna lent forward in her seat, holding her breath in anticipation. This was the first interesting thing to happen since the great thaw.

"Rise brave man of Arendelle" Elsa spoke, "What, may I ask is the meaning of this?" Her voice rang with absolute authority and total confidence, yet her lips etched into a slight frown, so subtle that only her sister could truly see it. Her day had been stressful enough, the last thing she needed now is a bandit raid on some obscure village so close to the border that her neighbours might lay claim to it.

"a Host of 81500 men on eyesight has been spotted in southern Argoth my Queen, they march north west to the capital my lady." The soldier spoke between panting breaths, as he strained to regain his footing. a Series of gasps spread through the courtroom, Anna's the loudest of them all. "They carry 31000 Horsemen and 26000 bowmen, you're majesty, and the rest carry swords spears and halberds, my lady."

"What banner do they fly?"

"Banners my lady." The man spoke, seeming unsure of his own response. "They fly the silver goblet and black steed my lady." An immediate disbelieving rumble filled the air as noblemen argued on the happening. This time not even Elsa could hide her surprise.

"Guards, tend to this man!" The Queen called. "Ladies and Gentleman this court has been adjourned, I would like to ask you to please retire to your quarters." Masses of people started to exit the hall, either to return to their homes, or to their rooms within the castle grounds.

Anna turned to her sister, seated on the elevated throne next to her own, only speaking when they were alone. "Hey Elsa, what's the big deal with the cup and the horse?" Anna enquired.

Elsa giggled "Anna, that was part of one of your lessons when you turned fourteen, didn't mother or the tutors teach you anything at all?"

"I may or may not have been playing with the quill."

"Oh, Anna." Elsa sighed, her smile had fallen however. "The Black Steed belongs to the royal family of Vasjthelm, their horsemen are the envy of the North, they are brooding and hostile folk, their king, Benjern the Dark has been threatening to attack Argoth for years now, after they slew his father in the battle of Helms Straight, nobody took him seriously though, he never had the foot soldiers to pull it of though."

"Whoah, it's just like a legend! The mighty prince to avenge his noble father!"

"Janus the Wrathfull was never a noble man Anna, do you seriously know nothing of this?"

"Maybe, now get to the cup."

"The silver goblet belongs to the kingdom of Remington, a fertile kingdom with abundant iron mines." Elsa explained.

"They became vassals of Argoth under the rule of Barend the Second, sacrificing land, gold and food so that Argoth wouldn't attack, as well as for their protection, which they rarely provide. His son however, who came into power not six years ago at the ripe age of 23, seems to have other ideas. Their new king has earned himself a reputation as Barend the Bold in the courtroom and for good reason, but nobody ever thought he'd go this far."

"So what's so bad about this, it sounds like Argoths just getting what coming to them."

"Barend is an ambitious man Anna, who to say his to stop with Argoth."

Elsa sighed again, her eyes darting to the floor, her eyes becoming mournful and her shoulders sagging. Anna immediately moved to place a supporting hand on her sister's shoulder.

"Besides, Argoth is our closest allies Anna, when they send for help, which will be soon, we'll have to answer, whatever way we look at this, we'll be going to war soon, and then the fields will run red."

"I'll go!" Anna exclaimed. "I'll lead the troops."

"No Anna, you won't." Elsa said, cold finality ringing in her voice.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a war to plan."

_**AN: Hi guys, please leave a review, I would love some feedback. Let me know if you would like me to continue with this. I also need a some more kingdoms, so if anyone is interested in submitting me one, let me know through a PM please, I'll send you the form. Sorry if I don't get back to you immediately, I'm going on vacation, but I'll be back by 22. Thanks for reading.**_


	2. Gathering Storm

**_AN: This was a bitch to write on a tablet. Luckily the next chapter shall be written on my deskt_**op.

**Barend**

He's scouts had warned him, yet the young king had still wished to see it for himself. He had ridden with the priest Nicholas. Trekking through the rocky hills of Argoth, he's personal gaurd never far behind. It had been a foolish choice, he had decided. The vile stench of death and fear had soon made home in his nostrils and bile rose to the back of his throat. Thick plumes of dark smoke burned his eyes as it rose from the wreckage of that which once was. He'd meandered through ruined town, drinking in the destruction, occasiounally mouthing along to the priest as he prayed for those who had fell in the slaughter.

The sky opened and fat drops descended from the heavens, pitter pattering when it hit his polished plate mail just as they had reached the wreck of the town's former inn. An icy chill swept through the valley and Barend subconsciously pulled his soft yellow cape around his shoulders in an effort to conserve heat. Shallow, erratic breathing paired with bursts of distressed whimpers pulled him from his inspection, urging him further into the field of burnt wood and scorched earth. He followed the sound, warily stepping over burnt wood and decaying corpses, to a wench, no older than sixteen, laying with her back to a crumbling stone wall.

Carrion birds had already started to circle above, attracted by the alluring odor of a fresh death. She was completely in the nude, yet she made no attempt to cover herself, both her hands being occupied with attempting to keep her organs from slipping out of the large gash that ran the length of her abdomen. Sweat and blood ran down her brow and her matted brown hair was sprayed with an ungodly amount of the crimson liquid, thanks to the gashing wound at the top of her head.

If the king would have guesed, he'd say that she had most likely been raped and left for dead. A fallen rafter, made brittle by the eager touch of flames cracked under his heavy, armored boots, launching a sudden puff of burnt grey ash into the already stale air.

It startled the girl, causing her to jump to glance in his direction before flinching at the sudden spear pain running through her exhausted body. She stared up at him, her bloodshot eyes silently pleading for mercy, any semblance of hope having long since left her soul. He sighed before bestowing upon her the only mercy that he could. He unsheathed he's bastard sword, the blade gleaming a dull, polished silver in the gloomy afternoon light. He raised the weapon to the height of his eyes, holding it in such a manner that the point was lined up with her throat. He gripped the cup-shaped hilt tightly before thrusting the blade into her throut, spilling her life blood, her whimpers turning to gurgles before ending her misery.

"Priest." He called to his slower companion, "pray for this woman. "

"My King" the wisened old man replied, "I fear you have aligned us with a daemon."

"I will be the first to admit that I hold little more than contempt for the Wraith and his so called Children of Darkness, they are no different than bloody savages, perhaps not as civilized. However, if we wish to hold Vasjthelm's allegiance, we must not balk." The responce came in a bitter tone, the men of Remington held little love for the riders of Vasjthelm, even less so for the Wraith and his merry band of bastards.

The Wriath is, and always has been a loyal lord to the kingdom of Vasjthelm. He had whispered into the ear of Janus the Wrathfull, just is he now does with Benjern the Dark. Even amongst the Dark King's men there is little known of the Wraith, as he does no eat with the men, nor does he show his face, constantly hiding it behind his old, torn hood. A far cry from what he's fortunes could truly provide him with. He has little to say, and when he does speak, he speaks so softly that it could barely be named a whisper. Yet when he did, the room would go silent as all leaned to hear what he has to say. He is brutal, bloody and cold, slaughtering any man or creature he finds to be an deterrence or annoyance. Yet he never killed without reason.

He also leads a 'regiment' of men, known as the Children of Darkness. More likely a cult, Barend mused. They are the most brutal, psychotic and violent men ever to be recruited into Vasjthelm's armed forces. Phsycopaths, madmen, rapists and cannibals are commonplace in the band of fifty three savages. They would often collect body parts and strap the heads of their victims to they're saddles. Rumors had spread across the realms like wildfire, fed by both members of Remington's blades and Vasjthelm's Riders. Some spoke that the Wriath was a creature of hell others that he may be a monster or daemon and a few going as far as to claim that he were the devil himself.

What is known is that he is old, so old that Barend had been told stories of him by his wet nurse, before he could even wield even a practice blade. Each tale darker and more frightening than the last.

And these poor townsfolk had the misfortune of being in his way. They might have been peasants belonging to Bulgar, King of Argoth, but now they were little more than a feast for the crows and carrion birds.

Barend glanced behind him after he became aware of a sudden of racket, providing him with a clear view of the aftermath. It was a grotesque scene. The corpses of mauled Argothian guardsmen, mostly levy, aswell as those of butchered peasants and priests littered the ruin that had once been a town. Those were the lucky ones. Others had been strung up from high places or even crucified, left to die a slow and painfull death. He's guards had arrived. Now trotting through the village and beholding the carnage for themselves. They were a band of twenty or so men, mostly the son's of lordlings, who had never truly seen outright bloodshed before. Which is why one of them was currently bowed behind a tree, emptying the contents of he's stomach onto the sodden earth, whilst his squire had taken to poking at an decapitated corpse with his blade. All but his honor gaurds, all five of whom observed the scene with a stony face.

Yet the needles genocide was merely half of what angered him. Surrounding the burnt village stood the remains of incinerated farms, their harvest destroyed with them. Valuable grain that should feed his host. They could bring only so much food along, carried by destriers and pack mules. They had to live off the land, but they could not do so if the Wriath kept burning the crops and granaries.

The King took a deep breath, steeling his resolve before shouting. "Give you're steeds some rest and see what you can scavenge from this wreck, we'll head to Helms Straight and meet the host there. We ride within the hour!"

And ride they did. They made good time, even though they did not ride on the road, on grounds that it were to dangerous. Soon they had reached Helms Straight, a lush field of uneven grassland planted firmly at the foot of a great cliff. Helms Drop they had named it. Surely an interesting tale were reason behind such name he thought. Pale gray stone reflected the dull light that seeped through the thick gray clouds, painting the snow caked dark green grass in a soft haze.

It wasn't long before banners appeared on the horizon, one a dark steed on a sea of gray. The other made his chest swell with pride and his eyes damp with homesickness, for it is a silver cup that flew on a checkerd sea of white and soft yellow.

**Kristoff**

"Don't you get it, I'll finally be able to do something noteworthy, they'll cheer my name in the streets. I won't just be Anna the Spare anymore, I'll be Anna the Conqueror or Anna the Brave or-or maybe even Anna, the Queen of Blades. Just think about it." Kristoff, grimninced, this was bad and he knew it. Having the happy-go-lucky princess of Arendelle lead an army was the last thing either she or the North needed right now. If he didn't play his cards right in this conversation she might end up becoming Anna the Dead.

He scratched the back of his head. "I really don't know about this Anna, It doesn't exactly sound like the best idea-"

"Neither did running after my sister after she had had a mental breakdown, nearly killed me and pretty much doomed the kingdom, but I think we can all agree that turned out great." she rebutted, donning a triumphed smile.

"Yes it did, but that's because you knew Elsa, Anna you know nothing of warfare."

"Poke them with the pointy end, how hard could it be?" Anna stated, mimicking a thrusting motion.

"Some men spends a lifetime mastering the art of war Anna."

"Joan didn't, besides, it's the guy's I'll be up against first war too." Damn, she was on a roll.

"Benjerns been preparing for this war for years now and even Barend won some acliam staving of the bandits to the north of his kingdom. Even more so, if you remember corectly Joan lost the war."

"How does everyone know these things but me? I mean your not even on the court." The speed at which her expretion turned exasperated would usaly have him laughing right now, but the implications of this exchange was mutch to serious.

"Hey, I read." Kristoff replied, seeming slightly offended.

Kristoff had arrived back in Arendelle three days after the messenger had burst through the castle doors and in that time Argoth had sent for help. It seemed to be all Anna has spoke of since his return a few hours prior. He'd arrived with Sven, bearing a large load of fresh ice from the Eastern Lakes, looking forward to long, relaxing evenings with the lady he courted. Or at least as relaxing as an evening with her could get. This was not to be. The second he had stepped through the portcullis he'd been bombarded by Anna's ramblings of war and glory. And for once he and Elsa seemed to be on the same page. Don't let Anna go. Elsa had been holed up in the war chambers for the majority of her time, and when she was not doing that, she was either holding court or sleeping, in fact the only real time the sisters spend together these last few days was in the dining room. So the duty of keeping Anna from doing something stupid had fallen to him.

And a taxing duty it is.

Their conversation came to a sudden halt however, ended by a rhythmic knock on the door. "Come in." It was Anna who answered. The door opened to reveal a royal summoner, bearing word from the Queen. "Her royal majesty Queen Elsa of Arendelle has requested the presence of Lady Princess Anna of Arendelle within her own personal solar." Anna had seemed excited by this and exclaimed that mayhaps the Queen had changed her mind on having her lead a host. She left in a haste, parting Kristoff with a kiss on the cheek and a hug despite their earlier scuffle. That's part of why he loved her so, she was quick to forgive and soft at hart. With little to do alone in Anna's chambers, Kristoff made his way down the steps and through the great corridors to the castle library.

Arendelle's library was a sizable hall, lined with large oaken bookshelves and littered with study benches. Books beyond count littered the shelves, novels and tomes of all things. From the journals of kings before to a books of songs and accounts of all the best whorehouses in all of the realm. The walls were adorned with portrets of royals come to pass, Kristoff had slowly come to know they're names and deeds from his conversations with the bookkeepers. He spotted Helgar the Terrible and Ygritte the Fair. He gazed up Baelon Ironfist and Felma the Warmaiden. He glanced up at Dorian the Builder and Osna Bucktooth and many more. Apart from castle staff the royal archives were rarely visited, it had only two regular guests. The first being her Royal Majesty Queen Elsa who was fond of her novels for they had provided a means of escape in her years of isolation. The second was the royal Ice Master, Sir Kristoff Icebourn.

When Kristoff had been annoited Royal Ice Master he had earned his right to a second name and a coat of arms, both of which he had to become on his own. His second name had come quickly to him, but the coat of arms had aluded him for several days. He had wished for it to be something meaningfull to him. The result had been the head of a reindeer on a sea of checkerd green and pale blue. When Kristoff had first started to court Anna, he had felt ashamed by his illiterate nature. A lady of her stature deserved at least a man who could read he remeberd thinking. Not soon after he had consulted the head bookkeeper, a stout, quiet man who went by the name of Poletart. He had begged the man to teach him to read, it had cost him a month of sweeping the library, but Poletart had soon agreed. Before long he was struggling over children's novels, attempting to make sense of the tiny symbols that littered the page before him. He had read out loud and the squinting made his head hurt and his eyes burn. That had been several months months ago.

Now Kristoff could read, albeit slowly and with moving lips. He wondered his way through the library until he came upon the book he were reading last. It is a sprawling tome, thick and bound by leather. It bears no symbols, but any man may know what it is merely by glancing at it. The book in question is the sixth tome of Arendelle. The sixth of its kind, it contained all of recent history impactfull upon the kingdom of Arendelle. Everything from the violent raids of The Wraith, the fall of the Seven Kingdoms and the recent rise of the Empire of Skarrenheim. It held words on the conquests of Argoth led by Prince Bulgar the Bull and most recently, the Great Thaw. The book was old, so old that it had been written in before the birth of Anna's parents, who would both be three-and-fifty were they alive today. The first thing Kristoff had descided to read up on had been recent politics so he could uphold a conversation with Elsa and not look a fool infront of more educated members of the court. Even the royal jester knew more than he did and would often mock him for it at social gatherings, but Kristoff paid him little mind however, as he sang the same song of most of the Lords and Ladies at court.

Kristoff opened the book where he had left of, reading on the fall of the Seven Kingdoms and the rise of the Usurper and his four loyal Horsemen. The Hell Prince as they had called him, now known as The Hell Lord is brutal man, swift in his actions and a master swordsman. He can summon flames to do his bidding and has dabbled in the dark arts, or so the book had claimed. He's rise had caused great unrest in the North, half of which had gathered their blades and prepared for war. After the Great Thaw he was inclined to believe it. Before long he lost himself in the browning pages, falling into times past. Mesmerised by the words he had not heard the soft footsteps of a waddeling snowman.

"Hi Sven!" Olaf near hollerd from right next to Kristoff's left ear. Kristoff jumped in surprise and the wooden floors rushed to kiss his face. He scrabled to sit up straight before standing up straight. He was panting and rubbing the bright red bruise on his forehead.

"Long time no see buddy." The living snowman completey ignored Kristoff's predicament.

"Ol ...He-Olaf" Kristoff started between large gulping breaths, he looked near a fish out of water. "Olaf" he said again. "Where did you come form?"

"The war room" Oh please tell me he doesn't have to do anything important Kristoff thought to himself. "I got stuck in the weapons closet for four hole days, can you believe it?" the snowman given life declared almost proudly. Kristoff breathed a sigh of relief, but got no time to reply before the snowman was talking again.

"I heard mom talking in there to, with some other men. She's going away tomorrow." The snow gollum seemed sad now. "She going to go meet some king with a bunch of people and then their going to go meet some other kings with people and stop them from going to a castle" Olaf said. "And a second bunch of guys from here will go around the long way and take the other people from behind and make a big people sandwich!" Although Olaf had seemed blue at the start of the sentence, he got got up in what he was saying and by the end he had declared it excitedly.

"You should have seen the guard's face when he found me." Olaf chuckled "Anyway, gotta run, bye!" The snowman turned around waddled of as fast he had came. Only then did Kristoff see the war axe still stuck between the unaware snowman's shoulders, confirming Olaf's tales.

"Huh" Kristoff said to himself softly. He shrugged, aperantly the Ice Queen could plan a war.

**Mikeal**

Angry voices rose through the sprawling city, rising to deaphening volumes. "Burn the Usurper" they'd yell or "Purge the Heretic" or some other bollocks like that. To him the raging mob sounded eerily alike to a pack of rabid animals. Smells of them to. It was a blight on their magnificent metropolis, he'd decided, a bleating mass of ticked-off supporters of the old Order, religious conservatives and ungrateful small folk. He'd mutch rather throw them all off mount Fel, he doubted he'd need to however, as half of them were stupid enough to jump on their own. Not to say that he was ignorant to their pleas, on the contrary, it was hard to be when they kept hollering it ceaselessly everyday until their throats bled and their voices gave in. And then some, or so it felt.

He's presence brought a fresh wave uproar, the masses turning their slurs to him. "Filthy Elf!" and "Begone Hellspawn!" seemed to be some of their choice insults. Dispite the accusations, Mikeal was no elf. He's shoulder length silvery blond hair, eyes of such a dark shade of blue that it might be called navy and pointed features we're enough to fool the superstitious drabble though. A volomous mass of which had gathered on the Obsidian Sqaure before the palace, held at bay only by a battalion of soldiers loyal to the true lord of Skarrenhiem. The soldiers we're dressed mostley in black, minus their grey waistcoats. Unlike most northen kingdoms, Skarrenheim had mostly abandoned armour, declaring it obsolete following recent invention of muskets. The soldiers themselves clutched they're muskets firmly, swiping they're bayonets at the racious horde.

Mikeal strolled passed the soldiers, leisurely drinking in the sights. The towering structures of the Black Keep, it's massive towers grasping at the air not unlike long, slender fingers. The densely stacked buildings that surrounded the Obsidian Square, made of dark stone wherein two or three families lived each. And the lavish Holy Catholic Chrurch, before which stood the Seven Sentinels. Or what's left of them anyway. The Seven Sentinels are seven massive statues errected by the kings of the former Seven Kingdoms. Each errected in their own likeness, before the church as if to stand in holy light. All but two statues had less than their waists, one of which had its head severed in the staking of the capital city. They thought themselves powerful yet the pigeons shit on their heads all the same Mikeal reflected. Despite the disarray, Morkethjarta had lost none of its beauty he realized.

He made his way up the marble steps, glancing back at the crowd. His liege would not be pleased. He is one of the Four Horsemen, the first in fact. They are the fearless and ruthless right hand men to the Hell Lord and close friends aswell. Yet his lord was the only man he truly ever feared. The Usurper is a cold lord, hidding his true dark nature behind a chipper mask. A wisecrackking young man with a body like a maidens dream and neigh unbeatable with a blade in hand. He was also kissed by fire. Blessed by a daemon, cursed to wield the power of hellfire at his own request. In return for a bloody deal of course.

Mikeal marched through the dark interiors of the Black Keep, the cavernous rooms and hallways lined with elite gaurds. He walked in the shadows, shying away from light. The rif-fraff's tantrum could barely be heard through the thick stone weaved through a steady stream of scurrying servants and butlers, fearful not to implore the Hell Lord's wrath. Finally he reached the gold gilded ebony doors to the council chambers. Before he were even halfway down the hallway however voices already bled from beyond the wooden structures.

"...your use of hellfire has upset the priests, they wish to over throw you."

"Then kill them, this solution does not seem to be to complicated for a military genius to think of my dear Vladimir." The Hell Lord's voice was shockingly normal, yet held a intimidating edge.

"With all due respect, that would only serve to make them martyrs, the peasants shall rally open their demise." The speaker was calm and collected. It belonged to the aged General Vladimir, the most valued strategist in the Empire.

"Then we have their heads on a pike aswell." This was the loud and gruff voice of Lukasz, the Second Horseman. A barbaric man, seven foot tall and. Jilt like a fortress. A rather violent one. He carried a bloody huge great axe most anywhere he goes. Some men say he sleeps with it.

"What use is fields without peasants? Or mines without miners?" Vladimir replied "Think barbarian."

Mikeal slipped in qiutely, as to go unseen. He stayed in the shadows. In the attendance of the Usurper stood three men. The first was Lukasz, stuffed into a suit mutch to small for him. This was proven by the multiple rips and tears hat litered the expensive fabric. Despite his lavish outfit, the Hourseman's glorius maroon shag of hair and beard went untamed. The second a balding man with white hair and impressive grey whiskers. General Vladimir is not what you would call a tall man, yet he possesed an edge to him that few other men did. The last was a broad shouldered man with neat black hair and a immaculate uniform. General Corvinus is usually boastful and arogant, yet he was unnataurally still infront of his lord.

The Second Horseman grumbled at the General, but dared not to make a move in front of the Hell Lord.

"We need a way to show the people that they cannot hope to beat us." This was the Usurper again.

"My sources tells me that the kingdoms to the North are moving to war, should we take them, we may scare the populous to submition." Vladimir replied.

"Then let us set sail immediately!" Lukasz spoke, ever eager for blood.

"We have no measure of their power, a blind assult might prove unwise."

"They know you as the Devil over the sea m'lord, you have nothing to fear from these cravens, I assure you." Corvinus spoke for the first time in the session.

"Silence idiot." Corvinus bowed low to his liege.

"We must know before we strike, Vladimir prepare the men, I shall think of a way to become of this information." The ruler's dark locks fell infront if his face as he spoke, shadowing his eyes.

Mikeal stepped into the light. Guards reached for their weapons before they saw who it was,

"That, my Lord, is where I come into play."

AN: So, whadya think? Should I change my rating? Please let me know through a review, feedback is always helpful. I would also like to thank Shawn Raven for reviewing submitting the Empire of Skarenheim, it was just what I needed, aswell as for becoming such a fast friend. I would also like to thank HueDoge for reviewing, the feedback was very helpful.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Drums of Doom

_**AN: I don't own Frozen and I'm not writing this for profit.**_

**Kristoff**

The air held a cutting chill, contradicting the warm light shed from the early morning sun. The palace was a bustle of activity. Soldiers and servants alike run amuck in attempt to prepare for the departure of Arendelle's second army. It is a smaller host than the first, which marched the evening before. It numbered at roughly twenty thousand fighting men, whilst the previous host help up to thirty thousand. The first is led by Grand Marshall Gudsmannen, whilst the second would be led by Queen Elsa herself. The second army was to meet with the Argothian men and face the enemy head on, whilst Gudsmannen and his men would force march around and strike the men of Remington and Vasjthelm from the rear.

Kristoff had come outside an hour before Elsa's departure to say his farewells. The sun reflected from the dark blue waters of the fjord, caking the palace in a grand light. The men were lined up neatly in the courtyard in an impressive show of discipline. Very few horses are present, but a sea of halberds and bows spread far and wide. An ocean of steel and cloth and iron. Muskets were also present, but they were far and few in between. It was a powerful image.

Despite the sense of security created by the soldiers, he couldn't help to feel that something was not right.

He found Elsa tending to her horse, a grey destrier, spotted with black. A Warhorse. Light reflect brightly from the basket-hilted sword strapped to her belt. It was a foreign site to see the Queen of Arendelle out of her courtroom gowns and dressed for war. She may be not have worn chainmail or other armour, but the modified officer's uniform made her seem as intimidating as any man of war.

"Elsa" he spoke as he would to a friend rather than his liege. She smiled slightly at the sight of him and turned away from her mount to face him.

"Kristoff" she greeted him.

"I've come to say my goodbyes." He informed her.

"It won't be easy being away from home, I'll miss Arendelle with all of my heart."

"Just as it will miss you Elsa, the people will lost without they're queen."

Elsa laughed at his comment.

"They'll have Anna, I'm sure that they won't want for anything as long as they have her."

Kristoff frowned. "Speaking of, were is our dear princess, I haven't seen her all morning, I assumed she would be here with you?"

Elsa smiled softly when she spoke of her dear sister. "She greeted me early this morning, said she couldn't bear a long goodbye. I haven't seen her since." Kristoff opened his mouth to say something, but Elsa continued speaking. "I have a favour to ask of you Kristoff, one that I beg you to perform." Kristoff's eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded to her to continue all the same.

"Look after her please. I need not tell you that Anna has a knack for getting into trouble. I would never be able to recover should something happen to her."

Kristoff nodded deeply and smiled. "You have nothing to fear, Sven and I will watch her like a hawk. No harm shall befall her whilst we are present."

"That is good to hear." They parted with a hug.

"Good luck to you Queen Elsa, I pray for your safety, I hope to see you again within a fortnight."

"And I you Kristoff Icebourn."

The army left the city, the ranks snaking into the mountains with Elsa leading from the Vanguard. Before long Kristoff tired of watching the host march and set out to find the one he loved so dearly. No matter how hard he tried to relax the nagging feeling in his gut persisted. He's search led him to an empty throne room, within which Kai, the head of palace greeted him graciously. He inquired whether the portly man had seen the princess this morning to which he shook his balding head. Upon first glance the throne room was devoid of any clue to the princess' whereabouts.

Yet upon closer inspection he spotted a small parchment folded into a letter laying on Princess Anna's throne. It was sealed with the royal wax seal. He picked the letter up gingerly. "Too whomever finds this first" was written on the front. It was Anna's sloppy handwriting. By now he had gained Kai's attention.

He took the parchment out of the envelope and opened it with shaky hands. Kristoff's mouth moved as he read it, squinting to make up the hastily written figures.

_I, Princess Anna, heir regent of the kingdom of Arendelle has left Arendelle on the royal duty of assuming control of our forces from Grand Marshall Gudsmannen. I shall return once the enemy has been slain and the war has come to a conclusion. I understand if you may feel distressed by my sudden departure, yet I imply that you do not. In my stead I leave Arendelle of the capable and loyal Royal Ice Master Kristoff Icebourn. His every command shall be enacted as though it were my own._

_Signed_

_Anna of Arendelle_

Kristoff stood stock still. This couldn't be happening. Slowly he passed the letter too Kai. He froze when Kai took it and started reading it for himself.

Then he looked at Kai and spoke the first word that came to his mind.

"Shit"

Kai nodded in agreement.

**Benjern**

His arse was hurting. After three quarters of a fortnight of almost constant riding his arse was aching as tough he had fallen on a spear. And so is his head. His own riders are relatively silent in marching, preferring leather and cloth armours instead of Remington's chain and plate mail. The symphony of banging metal and rattling chains is almost admirable in its volume. He holds little love for Remington and its inhabitants and this did little to help. If they were not necessary to reclaim his kingdom's lost lands he'd slay them all this instance.

Alas that was not to be. It is an insult to him, to have to ally his glorious kingdom to a vassal of his enemy. It was even more insulting that all he would be gaining from this assault would be the territory Vasjthelm had lost in its previous war as well as the Headstone of Argoth. The Headstone is a magnificent crimson gem, said to contain massive reserve of untapped magic. It would be theirs on request of he's loyal Wraith. Yet without Remington's siege equipment any attempt at attack would be futile.

The heavy rain broke through the sky, soaking every man, woman and child to the bone. Benjern's long, dark brown locks clung to his thin shoulders and fell over his ice blue eyes. It had started lightly this morning, a soft watery haze, yet it had soon it was pounding down at them with admirable force. This is not uncommon in the late winter and early spring, but not welcomed either. He became faintly aware of the sound of hooves beating the sloshed ground next to him. He glanced over to confirm his suspicions.

To his surprise it was not the sodden hood of the Wraith that greeted him, mounted on his sickly thin horse. Yet rather than the pale cream mare, the rider was mounted on a well fed, almost plump pure white charger. Its hooves stained brown and filthy with mud. The rider did in fact wear a hood, but her own woollen cloak was dyed a dark shade of green and lined with golden lace. Her curly chocolate brown locks fell over her shoulders and flooded out of her hood.

"Father…" The girl started.

"My king" Benjern corrected his nine year old daughter. It could be worse he reflected. It could have been Barend's boisterous old adviser.

"Yes my King, my apologies your majesty." He frowned. The girl was weak of spirit. She had no backbone. He would rather have the Wraith take the kingdom after his demise, thus he was in line to the throne just after his own child. He had wed his queen a decade ago, on her sixteenth name day and conceived his daughter on their wedding night. Yet after his firstborn, her womb only bore sickly infants, none of which survived for more than a single season. He would never have the heir he so truly desired.

Marrying the girl of would not be a problem, but then his name would die and he's flesh and blood would lose control of Vasjthelm. And he would rather see his daughter die alone than have that happen.

"Is it true that Grandpapa Janus was slain on these fields?" She continued.

He glanced up, spying he's surrounding's to see if her words were merited. The massive stone wall of Helm's Straight greeted him in all its gloomy glory. The rain had washed up old weapons of a battle long fought and all around him peasant soldiers were picking up the weapons of dead men. Their quality much more fine than their own.

Benjern frowned and his eyes dimmed. "So he did, Eira. He perished facing hordes of barbaric and bloodthirsty of filthy Argothians. He was a brave man my daughter, it will do you well to remember that." Eira's bright green eyes widened, she had always been fond of stories, and marvelled at her grandfather's heroic deeds. Benjern had brought the girl and her mother on this endeavour to help strengthen her resolve. She would need it if she were to lead a kingdom as expansive as Vasjthelm.

He spied King Barend and his Guard riding approaching from over the hillside. The poor excuses for horsemen had draped their mounts in cloth and armour. It made them very easy to spot. And much slower in battle.

"Now run along and pay your respects girl, it is the least you could do."

The girl galloped of on her mare, eager to honour her forebears. He exhaled loudly through his nostrils. He had no desire to converse with the arrogant young fool of a liege at this time. Yet, like a fly to horse shit, this man seemed to be attracted to his company.

"Good day to you, my friend." Barend called over. His smile didn't reach his eyes.

"The day has come alive until you have arrived." Benjern called back.

"Tis a hard day, it is a pity that our men must face it on a pity stomach."

"It would do you well to remember that it was you who suggested we march away from the roads. More men desert our cause every day. You assured me that we would be able to live off the land."

"We would be, had your creature not have destroyed every single grain of wheat from her to Mount Fel."

Anger swelled in Benjern, the Wraith is his most loyal servant, and he would not see this insolent child tarnish his name.

"You lie, remember that your petty conquest would be for naught without my outriders. Respect would serve you well, Bold one.

Barend recoiled slightly, as though he had not expected the outburst.

"You call me petty, yet you ride thousands of men to their death for your own personal need for vengeance. You ride only after personal satisfaction, not for your people. It would serve you just as well to know that you would be even less without my men."

"Just as you ride only for glory, you insufferable oaf!" Benjern yelled at the king of Remington. He reached for the pommel of his family longsword, Maiden's Kiss. This did not go unnoticed. Within seconds, every man in eyesight had reached for their weapons, all but Barend. The air was so thick with tension that you could cut it with a butter knife. The Wraith was by Benjern's side at the blink of an eye. Benjern's lady wife poked her head out of her litter to see what was going on.

Barend stared at him long and hard, his eyes showing nought but steely resolve. Water dripped from his eyes, falling past his dark brown orbs. Benjern grasped the hilt of Maiden's Kiss tighter, his knuckles going white. Barend's sword hand reached lower. Benjern inhaled deeply. The men narrowed their eyes and crouched lower. Benjern's wife gasped. Lightning struck.

Barend grasped the reigns of his blood bay destier, turned his back, and trotted away calmly.

He turned back and yelled, "Let there not be another king of Vasjthelm be slain on these fields, for that would be far too poetic."

The men let their shoulders sag. Their hands leaving their pommels, before starting off to the North West again.

Benjern, king of Vasjthelm would not take this insult lightly. There would be hell to pay.

**Mikeal**

The familiar fragrance of sea salt wafted through the air, it's refreshing properties working wonders on his tired body. The chill was undeniable, seeping through his thick woollen coats. The grass was a dark green and patchy, strewn with random rocks and a multitude of goats. Waves crashed into the rocky outcroppings littering the outside of the harbour. The rhythmic thrumming lulling him into a sense of peace and calm, undoing the tense knots in his back and neck. He had been riding for two days without rest, rushing to carry out the will of his liege. He was glad he wore commoner's clothes, the ridged discomfort of armour would have been a heavy burden to bare. The port town of Kaldhavn is lined with impressive, jagged cliff faces. Stony sentinels protecting the port from weather and foe alike. The town has no walls other than the natural protection, kept safe only by the town guard.

The land is unfertile, so the people had to live from fish and traded goods, thus food was expensive and highly valued.

It is a large town, inhabited almost entirely by sailors, merchants and tavern keepers. The buildings were pact tightly against each other, often higher than two stories. To attack the town from land would not be a hard fight, but to attack it from the sea might as well be suicide. And because of the jagged cliffs, it was one of the only locations were an invasion force could land. He who holds Kaldhavn, holds the north coast of Skarrenheim. Kaldhavn is a rich town, fuelled by the constant traffic of foreigners moving through the city. Yet not all that large, consisting mainly out of inn's and taverns, a result of its small permanent population. It is also the home of Skarrenheim's mighty navy, most notably the Usurpers' own personal flotilla. Yet this did not mean the settlement looked the part. The stone was damp, iron rusted and the structure were covered in moss. It stank of fish and piss as well.

Mikeal dismounted his steed. The sky was grey and miserly. He shuffled through the masses of boisterous sailors, loud merchants and needy beggars. The town buzzed like a hive of antsy insects, gifting him nothing but a headache. Mikeal preferred the quite life. Unfortunately, his line of work often drove him to large population centres. And doing serving his liege was award enough for his suffering. The town was packed, despite its low home population. Soon the crowded streets gave way to jogging marines, conversing sailors and loitering guards. Almost all of them dressed in signature black of Skarrenheim's brave men.

All around him, the towering mass of steadily rocking masts littered the sky, casting long shadows on the ground and sea. All of them flying the Phantom Rider of Skarrenheim. Many impressive warships are present in the bustling harbours. Schooners and frigates. Cogs and Men' O War. Even famous vessels such as _Cold Harbour's Touch_, _Grand Usurper_, _Tempest _and _The Bold Lady_. Yet all of them paled in comparison to the _Absolution_**. **Flagship of Skarrenheim's great navy. The massive vessel dwarfed all that surrounded it. It was the personal vessel of The Usurper. Made of the finest wood and lined with iron and gold, the ship was not unappealing to look at. Four levels of cannons rose above the waterline, with sixteen cannons at the longest line. The vessel was enormously long, almost thrice the size of a large tavern, and twice as long as it was wide. She boasts four masts A mighty ram was mounted on the front, shaped like the head of a stallion. Iron pikes lined the hull of the ship, to repel any man foolish enough to try and board her. They were rusty from attrition and sea water.

She had taken many a year to construct and she would sail for many a year to come. Yet he would not be setting sail in such a magnificent vessel. No, he's job required subtlety and finesse. He loitered along the port until Mikeal came upon the vessel he was to take to the North. _Wavebreaker_, a sturdy, wide cog with only a single sail, disguised as a civilian vessel. It bore minimal cannons and crew. He approached the vessel slowly, walking up the gangplank at a leisurely pace. Only to be halted by a sudden yell.

"Oi! You there, yeah you mister Pointy, what your Mama fucked an elf?" Mikeal raised his eyebrows. The voice was definably female. He turned his head to the source to find a short woman, dressed in Skarrenheim's captain's uniform yelling at him. Her black uniform was studded with iron and she wore the three pronged hat of a navy captain. Her auburn hair fell to her shoulders, and her pale blue eyes shined with a fire within. He continued to stare blankly as she threw obscenities at him. "We don' want no beggars here elf-fucker, shove back into whatever filthy hole you crawled from."

He almost cracked a smile. A man in an officer's uniform ran to her side, most likely her first mate. He whispered something in her ear. Her face fell before her lips spread into another smile, breaking her pale, spotted face. She approached him, spreading her arms wide in a welcoming gesture,

"Ah, milord, pleased to be made you're acquaintance. I am Captain Luijk, and welcome to my magnificent vessel, faster than _Tempest _and mightier than the _Absolution_!" She jested.

"Truly?" He humoured her, raising an eyebrow.

"No, she has the speed of a fat man jogging uphill and holds less power than a jester's fart." She rebuked.

This time he did smile. "I do so believe that you owe me an apology, Captain Luijk."

"No, I meant every word I said." She changed the subject quickly, as to not give him time to argue. "When would you wish to depart milord?"

"As soon as possible, the stench is unbearable."

"What, do the people of Morkithjarta shit incense and piss scented wine? Very well, we depart on the morrow at first light. We must depart with the current, make sure that you are not late."

Mikeal nodded before skulking of to find the nearest tavern. A drink would do him well right about now.

_**AN: Sorry for the long wait guys, I've been real freaking busy. I know that nothing much happened in this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.**_

_**PS: I am no longer accepting newly submitted kingdoms, I have completely mapped out the plotline. **_


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